


a thousand dying hyacinths

by hirokiyuu



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, Persona 5 Spoilers, hanahaki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-01-04 19:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12175152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hirokiyuu/pseuds/hirokiyuu
Summary: Part 1: Hanahaki + Justice, Rank 8.Part 2: The aftermath.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> self indulgence at its finest. the metaverse almost definitely does not work this way.
> 
> dedicated to alm, for baiting me into posting this.

The gun goes off and Akira’s throat itches, suddenly, violently. He can hear Akechi’s footsteps above him and he presses his hand to his mouth, hunches over as far as he can.

“What’s that for?” Akechi says, and the lilt to his voice is all wrong, a strange flatness under the ups and downs of it that just make Akira’s throat hurt more. “Don’t tell me you’re about to puke just from seeing someone die.”

His double must be imitating the same motions he is, Akira’s own perceptions shaping the way things are going. For the first time in his life he wishes Akechi would stop talking and just leave, before Akira does something he can’t take back.

There are a few more footsteps. Akechi is right above him, in front of his double. Between them there’s nothing more than an inch of steel and a foot of air. “This is it,” Akechi says, and Akira can hear the click of the gun being cocked. “This is how your justice ends.”

Unable to muffle it, Akira coughs. His double, above, does the same.

“What, are you going to start crying?” Akira hunches closer in on himself to muffle any noises he might make. “It’s not going to --”

Akira pulls his hands away to let petals spill from his mouth. Akechi’s voice stops.

It’s quiet, even as Akira’s shoulders shake. In the darkness, he can’t make out what the flowers might be, but they fall between his fingers and scatter on the floor.

The laughter starts quiet but it grows and grows and grows til it’s the only thing ringing in Akira’s ears. Muffled by it he lets himself cough, just a little louder, and when he does Akechi’s laughter slips higher. “You…” he says, still out of breath, and even now that strange flatness is still present, “are one sick fuck, Joker.”

The gun goes off. Hidden under the floor, Akira closes his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, writing the first part: haha this is just a fun little thing i'll mark it as complete i'll never come back  
> me now:  
> anyways please enjoy this vessel for my hanahaki headcanons, and as usual thanks to alm for the beta!

He manages to swallow back the worst of the coughing during the meeting, shrugging noncommittally when the others had asked if it was damage from his confinement, but the second they finish trailing out the cafe he’s taking the stairs up to the attic two at a time.

“Akira?” Morgana says, bounding up behind him, and the worry in his voice changes to alarm as Akira drops to his knees in front of his trash can. “H-Hey, are you okay?!” It’s impossible to answer though the awful hacking coughs that leave him shaking all over. “Akira!”

Eventually he manages enough breath to say, “It’s fine.” The look Morgana gives him in return is withering, and not for the first time Akira’s both annoyed and grateful that Morgana seems to have made Akira’s well-being his own personal mission. He sighs, spits out the last of the petals in his mouth, and doesn’t miss the way Morgana’s eyes fall to the mess of camellias in the trash.

He pulls himself up only to fall onto his bed. It feels like it had been years since he’d touched something so soft. He can remember, vaguely, first arriving here and bitterly thinking it was barely better than a piece of cardboard. _Should’ve appreciated what you had_ , he thinks to himself sardonically, and his throat spasms.

“That was... hanahaki, wasn’t it?” Morgana says, jumping up to land gently at Akira’s side. The rough edges of his voices have smoothed out into something that’s almost unbearably kind. “Is it Sae-san? It’s supposed to help if you confess, right? We can get her number from Makoto.”

“It’s not Sae,” Akira says, and coughs hard into his palm. He holds the petals in his hand and can’t bring himself to crush them.

Morgana frowns, blue eyes piercing as he searches Akira’s face. “Then who? Did you realize you loved someone when you were telling her about us? I mean, the only other people you would’ve seen were the guards, and --”

Akira looks away. “Oh,” Morgana says, and then, “Oh, _Akira._ ” His voice is filled with a horrified pity.

“I know,” Akira says. The back of his throat aches. “You don’t have to say anything.”

The bed rustles, and then Akira has a lapful of soft cat. He can count on one hand the number of times Morgana had done this before; they form a direct correlation with the days he was most worried about Akira. He butts his head against Akira’s hand in a move that’s completely unprecedented. Akira relents and begins to slowly drag his hand across Morgana’s back.

“If you need to talk,” Morgana says. “I know sometimes that makes it worse -- but it helps sometimes, too, right? So if you think it’ll help, even a little ….” He tilts his head, nuzzles against Akira’s wrist.

“Thank you,” Akira says. It’s bewildering, he thinks, that he could be surrounded by so much kindness. There’s a different kind of lump in his throat, now, hot and wet. He breathes shallowly and blinks very slowly, and tries to lose himself in the rhythm of his hand on Morgana’s fur.

“Are you gonna tell the others?” Akira’s hand pauses, and Morgana’s tail lashes. “You don’t have to!” he says, quickly. “But if they start talking about him around you, it might….”

Somehow Morgana not saying the name hurts worse than hearing it. _A bogeyman_ , Akira thinks, and coughs up another handful of red. “Who knows,” Akira says, resuming the petting. “Maybe it’ll go away in the cognitive world, if everyone thinks I’m healthy.”

Morgana doesn’t answer for a long while, even as he lounges in Akira’s lap. It would be nice if that meant the conversation was over, but by now Akira’s familiar with the concept of a pipe dream. “You know,” Morgana says, slowly, “it’s okay if you don’t want to tell them.”

Akira’s hand stills again. This time, he lets it fall to the side. Tell them -- what? Tell them that he’d only realized he was in love when he’d heard a man fall to the ground dead? Tell them it wasn’t kindness or goodness he wanted, but a boy with a bloody history stretched years back behind him like a noose? He couldn’t imagine looking into their eyes and explaining any of it, not that strange pull he’d felt since the day at the taping, and not the way it’d increased instead of vanishing when he’d learned about what had been planned for him.

His mouth is sticky. He pulls the trash can over and spits; gobs of pollen land on top of the flowers. Even when he scrapes his tongue with his teeth, the taste of it remains, cloying and nauseatingly thick. He stares down at the awful mess and wishes, desperately, that he could change Akechi’s heart.

“Alright,” Morgana says. He’d had to jump out of Akira’s lap when Akira moved, and now he sits primly at Akira’s side. “We can drop it. Just -- you know I care about you, right? We all do. Don’t forget that.”

His mind turns, unbidden, to gloved hands and a long red beak. _Not all of you_ , he thinks, even though that number has long been removed from the group chat, and then he has to swallow down another cough. “I won’t,” he says, instead.

Mona gives him one long last searching look and then nods, decisively. “You better!” he says, tail lashing. “Anyways, were you planning on going out tonight? That politician’s probably still giving speeches, but if you’re worried about money the beef bowl place should be open….”

It’s easy to slip back into the rhythm of his day, with Morgana there. He can just push everything else to the side, ignore the ache in his throat and the taste in his mouth in favor of the usual mundanities. Still, even as he pulls his hood on and stands up, he has to muffle another cough, and he can feel Morgana’s eyes on him like a pair of weights. It doesn’t matter. He’ll be fine.

He can’t afford to be anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> catch me on twit @yuunamakis or @hirokiyuus if ya wanna chat!
> 
> EDIT: i almost forgot to mention, but in hanakotoba, camellias mean either "in love" or "perishing with grace" which is apt for a Number of Reasons,


End file.
